Hit the Stage (And Knock These Curtains Down)
by UndercoverMoffat
Summary: In which Merlin is a musician whose fame is nothing short of local, Arthur is the son of a business executive, there's late nights sneaking out to see shows at local bars, and a forbidden romance.
1. Chapter 1

Tumblr Masterpost: undercover-moffat ~ post/44609387559/hit-the-stage-and-knock-these-curtains-down-merthur

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If there's anything Arthur Pendragon hates more than meetings, it's the rain.

As of this moment it's coming down in pounding waves, and he can already feel a headache blooming at the temples - he sighs and rubs them, as if to chase it away with the pressure of his fingers, but to little avail. Thunder booms outside-loud, and incredibly close, practically shaking the windows of his limousine-and he groans.

"Leon," he calls to his chauffeur and is met with impatient eyes in the rear view mirror. "Do me a favor and shield the windows."

"Of course, Mr. Pendragon," Leon says, and Arthur doesn't miss the slight bitterness in his tone, but he let's it go. He's actually quite fond of Leon - unlike all of his (i.e, his father's) other employees, he's not afraid to be a bit rude to Arthur's face, even if it is just a bit. It probably shouldn't, and it's certainly something Leon would get fired over if it was done to Uther, but it makes Arthur respect him just a little.

Leon does as Arthur asks, flipping some switch or another (Arthur really doesn't have the time to learn how it all works; that's what Leon is for, after all) and the slides on the windows close down, darkening the interior. Arthur breathes another sigh and leans back against his seat, closing his eyes.

He can still hear the pounding of the rain against the roof and another crack of thunder, but it's better than it was before, and his oncoming headache slows down. It's still coming, he knows, but at least it's not as quickly. He's just glad that said headache decided to make an appearance after his meeting and not before. He would've have been able to sit through the droning of the deals and shared profits and stock market points by his father and all the other business executives who loathe the Pendragon name (out of envy, mostly). He could care less about any of it, and the only reason he's even dragged to the dreadful things is because one day he's supposed to inherit the company.

The thing about Camelot is it's _everywhere_. Really, there's no where you can go without seeing it. Arthur's not even sure where it originated - there is no grand back story of his father building it from the ground up. No, the Pendragon line's been rich and posh for just about as long as the name's _existed_ (according to Uther, Arthur's father, it was even the name of royalty at one point). Just that it owns at least three of every minor business there is (at least, minor compared to them), all across the globe. As far as Arthur knows, the only thing it even manufactures is technology, so how it ended up owning fast food joints and book stores and other such places is beyond him.

The company itself is worth billions of dollars, and of course Uther wouldn't just pass it on to _anybody_, so Arthur's been in-training to inherit it since the day he was born. There isn't a time where he isn't crunching numbers for practice or running miniature "businesses" of his own (he had a whole chain of lemonade stands when he was four, but that's besides the point).

If Arthur can be honest, he'd give anything not to have that weight on his shoulders.

He's thinking about all of this, and how there's so much to be expected of him, the perfect son, and the headache only increases in strength. He heaves another sigh - he never runs out of them apparently - and at the moment, there's nothing he wants more than a drink. Uther's supposed to be wrapped up in the office for the remainder of the day, and quite possibly the night, anyhow, and Arthur contemplates telling Leon to change directions. It's not like Leon would rat him out - he makes more of a point to avoid Uther than Arthur himself does.

"Leon," he calls back up on a whim, and the strain in Leon's voice is clearer than every when he replies to Arthur.

"Yes, sir?"

"Do you know any good pubs around here?" Arthur asks, pulling the shade on the nearest window up with one finger. Leon knows better than to take the long route through London back to the Pendragon estate, and makes a point of cutting through every shortcut he can find, even if it's through the, er, lesser parts of the city. The one Arthur peers out at isn't posh in any way, but it seems a lot more friendly than some of the other places Leon's driven him through, the reckless bastard.

Leon's quiet for a moment, no doubt thinking of a way to hide a witty comeback in seemingly normal words, but eventually he simply says, "Avalon's not the worst, sir. Only ten minutes from here." He pauses. "It's not the finest establishment, sir, but one could say it's classy."

"I don't care about classy," Arthur hums. "Take me there then, and I'm counting." He taps his watch for affect, and Leon nods sharply, setting his jaw.

"Of course, Mr. Pendragon."

Leon gets Arthur to the so-called pub (from the outside, it doesn't look anything like - if anything, a cafe of sorts) in exactly nine minutes and forty seven seconds, and when he pulls to the side, and parks, he turns around with the slightest of grins on his face, waiting for a command.

Arthur takes a moment to scrutinize the outside of the building, raising an impressed eyebrow at it's state. It's low to the ground, and surrounded by nothing but pavement, a little ways from the road, with a sign that says "Avalon" in fancy, cursive script.

"It's new, sir, just opened a few weeks ago," Leon says, following Arthur's gaze. "Though, it's not really -" he breaks off, eying Arthur. "For your crowd." There's a glint in his eyes when he says 'your crowd' and the phrase is Leon at his bravest. Arthur turns his stare to him, but Leon doesn't even flinch - Arthur is reminded yet again of his respect for him. (Because if it wasn't for that, Leon would've been fired ages ago.)

"Yes, thank you, Leon," Arthur says with just the right amount of sarcasm, adjusting his suit around himself and pocketing his phone. "Don't wait up," he tells Leon, but then pauses with his hand on the handle of the door. "But if I call and there's not a ride here in no more than fifteen minutes, don't expect your paycheck to be as much as it was last month."

Leon smirks a little at that and Arthur gives a mock salute. He pushes the door open just a crack at first, peering out to see if it's still raining and smiles a little in victory when he's noticed that it's stopped. In one fluid movement, he climbs out of the car, shutting the door behind him. (Arthur never lets Leon open the door for him, even if Leon ever offered in the first place - it's more out of defiance of his father than anything else. He's been told several times that that's exactly what "people" (people meaning nothing more than _servants_) are for, but he stands by letting himself out. He's not a child, he's quite capable of opening a door.)

Leon wastes no time in gunning the engine and leaving Arthur in his wake, and Arthur rolls his eyes. It's not quite evening, but even through the clouds, Arthur can tell that it's about that time where people start going out - it is a Friday, after all - and handfuls of citizens make their way to the entrance of the pub. A few stop and stare or point or break out their camera phones at Arthur - he is an easily recognizable figure, after all - not that he particularly minds. He almost laughs at the idea of the paparazzi showing up and his father to grill him for appearing in such a neighborhood. It's an amusing vision, to say the least.

Arthur does a lot in defiance of Uther. Really, he's twenty-one, and Uther's getting no younger - it's only a matter of time before Arthur takes over as CEO of Camelot and all of the (albeit, little) freedom he has left is snatched right out of his hands.

Besides, Arthur doesn't particularly like waiting for a drink, and certainly not when he needs one as badly as he does. And he knows that if he were to go home and take a drink, he'd probably just end up staring miserably out the window like some sort of over-emotional teenager or, even worse, some middle-aged alcoholic, and really, nobody needs to see that, especially not the maids and butlers that are awake at every hour in the house. More so, his acting on a whim of asking Leon where he ought to go is just a surefire way of avoiding both the a fore mentioned self-pitying-at-home fest, and a self-pitying-while-surrounded-by-people-that-dont-care-about-him-and-he-doesn't-care-about-either fest.

Arthur doesn't particularly enjoy the company of any of his friends, and he's certain they don't like him at all either. If they aren't in it for the money, then it's certainly more to keep up pretenses - there's certainly those who's own father is no worse than Uther Pendragon.

He doesn't exactly feel like dealing with any of that now, and if he were to show up _here_ there's no doubt there'll be more than few people clinging on his arm.

Maybe if he's lucky, he can find a good shag as well.

Arthur's just about to step towards the entrance, when a body comes crashing into from somewhere off to his left and he's thrown to the ground in a flurry of bony limbs and curses.

"Watch it, you clumsy fool!" he snaps out more out of an automatic response than anything else, as he scrambles back to his feet, brushing gravel of his suit (_Westwood_, thank you very much.)

"Terribly sorry," comes the reply, a voice deeper than he expected considering the elbow that had jabbed into him felt thin. The voice is more strained than Leon's is (and that's saying a lot), and Arthur glances up.

The face staring back at him is wide-eyed and shocked at first, but it quickly registers Arthur's face - and recognizes, apparently - and promptly drops off whatever mask of apology it was wearing. The eyes that narrow at him are a bright mix of blue and maybe a hint of green, paired with ridiculously high, prominent cheekbones, and a smirk on downright kissable lips (not that Arthur notices - okay, he does, but really, one can't blame him, his description is rather accurate). "Oh," the stranger says, and it's then that Arthur notices he's clutching a guitar case to his chest. "Didn't mean to damage your Westwood, mate."

There's more sarcasm in there than Arthur's ever heard and he frowns at first in confusion. He can't lie and say that he hasn't been meant with bitterness and dislike, but never so quickly - to be honest, he's usually met with fawning, if not terrified politeness, at first (and then the bitterness, which is usually done when he's turned away), and he can't even begin to fathom why this stranger seems to harbor so much of both for him. Then there's the fact that he recognized Arthur's suit as Westwood, and that certainly says something.

Arthur retaliates in his usual way, and that's with sarcasm right back. "Quite alright, sir," he nods at the stranger's guitar case. "I do hope your instrument is quite alright. I could pay for it, if it's damaged in any way. Actually, I could just buy you a better one, I really doubt that one's of much quality."

The stranger cackles with laughter, and it's the last thing Arthur expected, so he blinks a bit in surprise. "Oh, you're exactly as I pictured," he snorts, and Arthur raises an eyebrow.

"Really, and how's that?"

The smirk he's wearing broadens. "An ass."

Arthur can feel his cheeks flush in irrational anger, but before he can make some sort of remark, the stranger let's loose another bark of of laughter and then walks away, slinging the strap of his guitar case over his shoulder. Arthur stares furiously after him for a moment, still trying to make sense of the brief exchange, and huffs. Who did the man think he was, anyhow? Arthur's - well, he's _Arthur Pendragon_, and he could probably _buy_ the man, for all that he was worth.

Arthur's glad more than ever that he's standing in front of a pub, because if he didn't need that drink before, he certainly does now. He brushes more dirt of his suit, grumbling some more about it, before noticing a piece of paper on the ground. It's face up, and features the pub's same script across the top. Arthur frowns and picks it up, more out of curiosity than anything else, and quickly scans it, realizing quickly it's an advert. It appears to feature something about performances for some event or another, and there's a list of names and bands.

Arthur looks at the names, and then back over his shoulder, but the stranger is nowhere in sight.

With little thought to it, Arthur crumples the paper up and shoves it in his pocket.

He certainly needs that drink.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur didn't mean to stay out until 3 in the morning, and he didn't mean to get totally wasted, and more than anything, he didn't mean to pull some guy into the bathroom and give him the world's best blow job (and Arthur knows, he's been told as much by more than one person.)

That last bit was probably the most stupid of them all because how is he to know that the stranger won't kiss and tell, and he's just recently got the previous scandal cleared up. Because no son of Uther Pendragon is going to fornicate with other men, oh no, would tarnish the family name.

He doesn't realize he's blabbing all of this to Leon until he closes the partition between them – actually, he doesn't remember calling Leon in the first place. He wonders idly about that for a moment, lying on his back and frowning at the carpeted ceiling of the limousine. He figures there's gong to be Hell to pay for this last stint of his, but in his defense -

But, really, he doesn't have a defense. Nothing valid anyway, and certainly not anything his father is going to listen to, let alone accept.

The last thing he's fully aware of is Leon not-so-gently pulling him out of the backseat, glaring with too-tired eyes, and Arthur promptly puking all over his shoes.

There's nothing after that, at least not until the next morning when he's greeted with sunshine through an open window (Jesus, why is it _open_, it's too early in the year for this rubbish), and an even grander headache than the one he had _before_ he got wasted beyond belief.

Arthur rolls over with a groan, frowning at the digital clock staring back at him with angry red letters. Thank God for Saturdays, he doesn't think he'd ever be able to go into the office (or class for that matter, which is something he doesn't want to think about at the moment) feeling like this. With another groan, he sits up in bed, running a hand across his face and frowning at the horrendous taste in his mouth. He wouldn't doubt if that taste alone is what woke him up.

He glances at the clock again - 1:30 pm. He's going to be grilled for that, he's sure; Uther Pendragon cannot stand late risers, hungover or not. Oh, yeah, and then there's that whole bit. Arthur attempts to run down what happened last night in his head, but all he can gather are bits and pieces - something about a pub called _Avalon_, running into some rude (ridiculously attractive) bloke, and blow jobs. Something about blow jobs.

Arthur's screwed in every since of the word.

He doesn't want to get out of bed and face his father - who makes a habit of taking Saturday's off - but knowing that the longer he stayed put, the angrier Uther'll be, he climbs out of bed and dresses as quickly as he can without falling over from the dizziness and pounding migraine.

Once he's brushed his teeth vigorously and adjusted himself in the mirror so he doesn't look totally helpless, he ventures out into the long hallway that makes up a better part of the second floor. Arthur knows his father is all about extravagance, and one could argue that so is Arthur himself, but even he doesn't understand what the point of such a large house is. Besides them, occasionally Arthur's half-sister Morgana, and the various maids and such, there's nobody. Not even a family pet. (Uther hates animals just about as much as every rival company out there, and that's quite a bit.)

Arthur takes his time heading down the spiraling staircase, listening intently for any signs of conversation. He hears none, just the faint clanking of glass, from the general direction of the kitchen. The den is empty - and if he were to be honest, that's always been a peeve of Arthur's. He hates being in the house without anybody, it's too large, and too empty, and the silence seems to bounce off the high-ceilings and the windows that take up whole entire walls. The structure of the estate is almost Victorian on the outside, and on more than one occasion it's even been compared to a castle, but the inside is decidedly modern.

Modern, white-washed, and cold.

Arthur wanders into the kitchen, where one of the chefs (Uther insists on employing many, and Arthur can't be bothered to keep track of all their names) is currently flipping what looks like pancakes. Just through the archway on the other side of the kitchen, where the dining room lies, Arthur can see his father's assistant, Gaius.

"Gaius," Arthur greets as soon as he enters the dining room, nodding in acknowledge. "Where's my father?"

Arthur particularly likes Gaius - he's one of the nicer bunch, but knows better than to put up with any of Uther's (or Arthur's) rubbish, while still maintaining the air of respect. He gives Arthur a kind smile, but there's something in his eyes that makes Arthur flinch. Gaius has a way of doing that - spelling out exactly what he means in his eyes.

"Arthur," Gaius says - one of the few employees that refers to Arthur by his first name - and gestures towards a chair a little ways down from his at the head of the table. "Do sit."

Arthur gives Gaius a dubious look, but does as much - really, Gaius is the only person that he'd listen to when told to do something, but he can't tell you if it's more because Gaius is basically an extra limb of his father, or something else - and once he's settled, he folds his hands across the table and waits.

"Your father's conversing with, a, er friend," Gaius begins, and Arthur suppresses a snort. Uther doesn't have _friends_.

"Is that Holmes bloke, the government one," Arthur asks curiously, reaching towards a silver bowl at the center of the table, which holds a collection of apples. Arthur feigns interest in one, picking at the skin with a fingernail.

Gaius elects not to answer that question. "He asked me to speak with you, about -"

"Let me guess, last night," Arthur says, directing his gaze back to Gaius, who sets his mouth in a firm line and gives one nod. "He can talk to me himself, Gaius, if it's that much of a problem." He doesn't mean to sound so bitter, at least not towards Gaius - he knows it's not his fault, and he's just doing as Arthur's father asked him - but he wished Uther had the decency to confront Arthur himself about it. If he's going to _punish_ Arthur or give some sort of speech about responsibility, Arthur would much rather he'd do it to his face, and not through an employee.

Then again, he shouldn't really expect anything else.

"I'm afraid so," Gaius sighs, folding his hands across the tabletop as well. Arthur notices his prominent, silver ring glint against the the light of the chandelier, and suddenly realizes that he has no idea if Gaius is even married. "Your father's just _concerned_, Arthur -"

"About the family name," Arthur snorts, going back to stare at his apple. "No disrespect Gaius, but I'd much rather be left alone. I'm not a child anymore, father doesn't need to send you to come put me in line." Arthur sets the apple down on the table with a thud, hating that he's getting a little too caught up in his emotions.

Gaius pauses, and out of the corner of his eye, Arthur can see Gaius studying his face. He does that when he knows there's something Arthur's not staring, and it's depressing in so many ways that Gaius knows Arthur better than Uther does.

"He just wants what's best for you, Arthur," Gaius says quietly after a long pause. "And you're correct - you aren't a child anymore, and it's time you start being a little more responsible."

"Responsible?" Arthur barks back and he can feel anger boiling in his chest. "I'm plenty responsible - I've handled more company exchanges and meetings with, Hell, with the government itself than men twice my age could ever dream of. Excuse me for wanting to, oh I don't know, unwind a little, go out, have a bit of fun. I'm twenty-one years old, not a man in his thirties or forties, even if I usually am more mature."

Arthur hadn't meant to vent out his frustration, and worse, his _feelings_, like that, and he suddenly feels ashamed, and exactly what he was defending himself again - childish. Very childish. He leans back in his seat, rolling the apple between his palms. "Tell father that I have plans tonight, and if he wishes to speak to me, it'd be a grand idea if he arrived home by some time this afternoon or wait until tomorrow."

"Arthur -"

But Arthur's already standing, leaving the apple on the table, and pushing his way past the nameless chef with the stack of pancakes out of the room.

**~X~**

Arthur spends a large portion of the day locked in his room like a whiny, emotional teenager throwing a temper-tantrum. It's Saturday after all, and if Uther's too busy to be, well, a /parent/, then Arthur has nothing to say or do for him. He'll leave all those unsigned papers for Uther in the morning.

There's been knocks on his door several times, and each time either ignores it, or if the knocking is p resistant, tells whoever is on the other side to go away. Oh, yes, a bratty teenager indeed. He couldn't find it in himself to care all that much, however.

It's ridiculous, he knows, and immature, and to be honest, he wishes that he himself wasn't making it such a big deal. It more was the principle than anything, and he knew going into that pub last night that things were going to turn out this way. He just needed a moment, was all. Just one moment where he could pretend that maybe he was Arthur Pendragon, prodigal son, and some normal bloke, who could just stop by a pub on a whim and get a much needed drink and socialize like /normal/ blokes do.

It was stupid. Irresponsible. He still doesn't care.

With nothing else to do with himself - it's not like he meant it when he told Gaius to tell Uther that he had plans tonight - Arthur goes about picking his room, hating how many unneeded, over-expensive items are crammed onto the shelves and walls, just how much designer clothing he has littered about the room. He picks up the slacks that he wore last night, frowning when he notices a bit of vomit on one of the legs. He's crumbling it up into a wad to toss across the room in the corner where all his other dirty laundry clothes, when he hears a crackle, like paper being rolled into a ball.

With a frown, he reaches into the pocket and pulls out the advert that he had picked up from last night after he that stranger with the guitar case and cheekbones ran into him. He'd almost completely forgotten about it, and restudies the flier for a moment.

He still doesn't recognize any of the names on it, but he finds himself grinning like a maniac. Perhaps he does have plans tonight after all.

"Thanks, mate," he says the advert, thinking of the stranger who just gave him another way to defy his father.

**~X~**

Saturday's are Leon's only days off, and so Arthur ends up driving himself to Avalon. He's not particularly fond of driving - it's tedious, and unnecessary when he has people like Leon - but at the moment, he supposes it could be worse. To be honest, it's quite nice having a moment alone.

It takes him longer than it should have, of course, to find his way back to the pub, but in his defense he's unfamiliar with the neighborhood. When he climbs out of his car, he's met with stares, just as before, but at least this time he's dressed a little more casually with a pair of sunglasses. Arthur Pendragon, normal bloke, sure. He could be, if he tried hard enough.

Arthur can't resist, however, and tosses a few more waves and even a smile or a two at the passerbyers, but he's actually glad that there's less of them tonight, and not all that interested. He thinks he recognizes a few faces, but the night before is still hazy, so he can't be absolutely sure.

Arthur's met with surprise, inside, however - it's more crowded than it was before, and there's a certain buzz in the air that wasn't there previously. He reaches back into his pocket and pulls the advert back out again. All he can gather from is musical performances - maybe a comedy act or two? - and this is isn't a weekly thing. For all he knows, it could be some sort of talent show.

His phone buzzes in his pocket just then, and he exhales steadily through his nose in preparation at first, before checking it. It's not from who he thought it was however, and he furrows his brow in confusion at the text.

_**Morgana;**_

_Sunglasses indoors makes you look like a prat._

Automatically, he pushes the sunglasses up on his forehead, glancing up and scanning the crowd. Not a far ways down is Morgana, waving at him with a smirk on her features.

"And just what are you doing here?" he asks her with a small smile, sliding into the chair next to hers at the small table. Next to her is a pretty girl who's attempting to stare over the crowd, her fingers interlocked with a man who's pointing something out to her.

Arthur turns back to Morgana and raises a questioning eyebrow at her. The thing about his half-sister is that, unlike him, she doesn't have to _try_ to be the prodigal child of Uther Pendragon. She's considered illegitimate, which is something they've both laughed at, to be honest, and so not much is expected of her, anyhow. Call it the labels of society, or whatever. Of course, she just also happens to be intelligent and beautiful, and even works under Camelot - not in such a position as Arthur, of course, but definitely close.

Arthur's always harbored a certain envy towards Morgana - like he said, not much is expected from her, and so when she succeeds, it's somehow extra special, and when she's involved with the press in any negative way (which is hardly _ever)_, it goes ignored or undetected. She lives on her own, which is another thing Arthur envies her for, but does come to visit occasionally.

Morgana's dressed similarly to Arthur - casually, but there's no doubt the clothing is expensive - with her hair let loose in her usual curls around her features. "I've come to see the show," she says, gesturing towards the stage. Arthur looks at her incredulously, but she ignores it, and instead tugs on her friend's elbow.

"Gwen," she says, and with Gwen's attention captured, Morgana turns back to Arthur gesturing at him. "This is my brother, Arthur. Arthur, Guinevere, and her lovely boyfriend, Lance."

"It's lovely to meet you," Gwen says with a sincere smile and Arthur can't help but smile back. He doesn't know when the last time he was told that with _real_ meaning.

"Hello," her boyfriend, Lance, acknowledges, with an equally nice smile.

"You as well, Guinevere," Arthur replies. "Lance." He nods at the both of them, before directing his stare back to Morgana. "You never did answer my question."

Morgana's plays with the straw of her martini - leave it to Morgana to get an apple martini in a place like this - and shifts her eyes to Gwen, who interjects, that same kind smile still on her face. "My best friend is preforming," she beams, and she sounds so proud that Arthur's own grin broadens a little.

"Is that so?" he asks, and Gwen nods.

"He's brilliant."

"He really is," Morgana agrees and Arthur looks over at her in surprise. It's not often that Morgana goes around, handing out compliments. "He's got this voice that's to die for." She says it a little dreamily and Arthur laughs at her.

"Got a bit of a crush, do we, Morgana?" he asks, reaching over and stealing her martini to take a sip.

Morgana rolls her eyes. "Even if I did, it wouldn't be of much use. He's gay."

Arthur splutters into the martini and Morgana makes a disgusted face, but then a man's walking out on the stage situated at the opposite end of the pub, and everyone's attention is drawn to him.

"Well, then!" he beams. "There's a quite of you here tonight. You do know this isn't some sort of Mumford & Sons concert, right?" he points at the crowd, who let's loose a little laugh.

"Well, there's music of course," the bloke corrects, sounding a little cheery. "And some people who think they're funny, but really aren't, and even an aspiring poet or two!" The pub cheers a bit at that, even Gwen, Lance, and Morgana, and Arthur finds himself laughing as well.

He hasn't felt this at ease in a while.

"We'll start with the poets, get the baddies out of the way," the man goes on, and there's a mixed noise from the audience. "Alright, they aren't all that bad."

Arthur doesn't hear the name that the man calls, because Morgana's reaching over and grasping Arthur's forearm. "Why are you here, exactly?" she asks with a curious tilt to her head.

"Long story," he sighs, picking back up her martini.

"Wanted a night away from father?" she says with a gleam in her eyes and Arthur just nods in response, raising the glass at her a little before taking another drink. "How'd you find out about this, though?"

"Had Leon take me here last night," Arthur tells her. "I'm surprised you haven't heard about it, thought for sure it'd be in the press by now. Father certainly does."

"There lovely people," Morgana tells him. "It's rare that there's new people here - all regulars. Like some sort of community."

"And just how long have you been coming here?" he asks her over the sound of some soothing voice going on about winter winds and broken hearts in a rhyme scheme.

"About as long as I've known Gwen," Morgana says, slinging an arm around her friend, who looks over at the sound of her name. "She works at Camelot, you know, she's an intern." Morgana gives Arthur a look he can't identify. "if you bothered to pay attention."

Arthur rolls his eyes again. "Father's always got me running around, I don't exactly have time to stop and learn proper names."

Morgana just shakes her head and holds her hands up in mock surrender, just as the poet on stage ends her performance, and the crowd cheers. Arthur claps as well, even if he hadn't heard a single word.

The same bloke from before comes running out, with a skip in his step and another broad smile on his features. "That was lovely, Freya, absolutely lovely." He turns to the crowd and mouths the words, "No, it wasn't", inciting a series of laughs, including from Arthur himself.

"Alright, I know we're all a bit impatient, so I suppose it is time for some music, hmm?" he raises an eyebrow, and the audience reacts positively, with a few whoops, including from Lance and Gwen.

"Because I'm a selfish bastard, and this bloke happens to my a dear friend of mine, I'll bring him on over first," he says, and both Gwen and Lance sit up in their chairs in excitement. "Please give a hand for - and yes, you can make fun of his name, I do it all the time - Merlin Emrys."

It is a rather odd name, Arthur thinks, but Gwen's too busy cheering and clapping loudly, that he doesn't really give much thought to it. It's a pleasant sight, Arthur thinks, and he almost wishes he had somebody that would show that much enthusiasm for something he'd done as well.

Arthur looks back at the stage, and then he's feeling his eyes go wide and he's nearly knocking over the martini set on the table next to his hand. It's that rude prat that had run into him, the one with the guitar case and the stupidly high cheekbones and too pretty eyes, the one that had dropped the advert that led Arthur to come here in the first place.

He almost says something to Morgana, but the stranger - Merlin - is already situated at the microphone. "Thank you, Gwaine, really, means a lot," he says, gaze focused off the stage. "You can make fun of Gwaine's name, I know I do," he tosses a wink at the crowd, and there's another one of those collective laughters.

"Apologies for being totally unoriginal tonight, but somebody," his eyes flicker over to the table that Arthur's seated at and there's a brief flit of panic in his chest before he realizes Merlin's gaze is focused on Gwen. "Spilled tea all over my work."

"Sorry!" she calls back though cupped hands and giggles.

"Yeah, yeah," Merlin rolls his eyes, and then he's taking an acoustic guitar - which looks new and /expensive/ and Arthur feels his face getting a little hot for no reason at all - out of his battered case and slinging the strap over his neck.

"Alright, I forgive you," Merlin says into the microphone. "But only because this song's for you, anyway."

"Oi, watch it!" Lane calls out. "That's my girl!"

"That's alright, Lance," Merlin says back, and a few people turn around to look at Lance, smiles on their faces. "She's not really my type anyway,"

And then, it's then that he begins to play.

Arthur doesn't recognize the song, but he doesn't need to to appreciate it. It comes out in smooth vocals and perfectly placed notes, and Arthur never really bothered with music much before, but for some reason this made him want to. The entire audience is captivated by it as well - there are no interruptions, not even conversation, and out of the corner of his eye Arthur can see even the bartender set down his glass.

The song itself casts these _emotions_ that Arthur can feel in his chest - it's a soft melancholy, and rippling underneath that is loneliness, but there's this hint of bitter sweetness. And then there's Merlin's /voice/ which is about as on key as one could possibly get (kudos for that, Arthur's as tone deaf as they come), and forms around the notes coming from the acoustic guitar he strums almost lazily, like a perfect mold, or a puzzle. His voice portrays the emotions stronger than the music itself, brings them more to life, and it's almost like losing a friend when it's over.

When it ends, Arthur blinks almost in surprise, and then there's a roar of clapping and cheering that Arthur finds himself partaking him. Any ill thoughts he ever had of Merlin have scattered out, and he couldn't snatch them back, even if he tried.

"Isn't he brilliant!" Gwen beams with pride, as Merlin waves a sheepish good-bye to the audience, and heads off the stage, replaced by Gwaine, whose grin looks a little less cocky and a little more sincere.

Arthur doesn't pay much attention to the rest of the show, to anybody else that meanders out on stage, because halfway through the act following Merlin's, Merlin himself comes jogging towards their table, collapsing on the open chair next to Lance's. His high cheekbones and ridiculous ears are flushed red, and he's wearing the biggest grin Arthur's ever seen.

"Absolutely fantastic!" Lance told Merlin, giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder and shaking him a little, before lifting up his beer bottle in cheers.

"If that's not the biggest understatement I've ever heard," Gwen rolls her eyes and reaches over Lance to grasp Merlin's left hand, which is laying casually on the table top.

"Thank you," Merlin tells them with sincerity (Arthur almost raises an eyebrow at that - so it's only him that Merlin's an arse to, then), still blushing. "Really, it means a lot."

"You were wonderful," Morgana interjects, giving her most award winning smile, and Merlin's gaze flickers to her.

"Yes," Arthur agrees, "Congratulations, mate."

Merlin looks over then at him in what seems to be pure surprise, bluish-green eyes (Arthur can't for the life of him figure out which color they are, and the dim lightning the pub does nothing to help this fact), blank. Recognition etches across his features slowly, those kaleidoscopic eyes sharpening slightly. "Thank you," Merlin says with a lilt in his tone that wasn't there before.

"Oh, Merlin, this is Arthur," Morgana says then, gesturing at the latter, who stares back at Merlin curiously (not without giving a returning glare, of course, because he always gets in the last laugh).

"We've met," Merlin says. "Literally ran into each other just yesterday, was it? I'm sorry again, 'bout that, mate," Merlin does what Arthur did to Morgana earlier, and reaches to steal a sip of Lance's drink.

Morgana raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Arthur notices something in Gwen's gaze flickers, but it's brief, and before Arthur can study it further, she's looking down at the phone that seems to have randomly appeared in her hand. Her thumbs tap at it quickly, before she sets it face down on the table, lifting her arm to rest her elbow on the surface of said table, hand cupping her chin.

A moment later there's a faint chime that sounds suspiciously like the sound of the TARDIS from _Doctor Who _(which is one of Arthur's guilty pleasures), and Merlin's drawing his one phone from his pocket. He smirks at it, tapping a reply to whatever text he may have received - and then Gwen's buzzes against the table, and Arthur catches on.

He doesn't say a word, and there's a brief moment of silence, in which Morgana and Lance exchange glances, like this is something Merlin and Gwen do often, and Arthur shifts uncomfortably in his chair, feeling a little bit out of place.

"Well," Morgana says cheerfully, clearing her throat. "If Lance isn't too wasted -"

"Oi!" Lance protests, but it goes ignored by Morgana.

" - How's about we all go out to dinner. On me," Morgana waves her fingers almost daintily, like paying for a meal for five is something she can just afford on a regular basis. Then again, Arthur knows for a fact that it most certainly is something Morgana can afford. She gets more money of their father than Arthur does, and he works directly under Uther.

"That sounds excellent!" Gwen agrees heartily, and her phone buzzes again in her hand - her eyes flit to Merlin, who smirks back at her, before pocketing her phone and standing, tugging on Lance's hand. "Shwarma, any one?"

"Anything but," Merlin snorts, and he stands as well, followed quickly by Morgana and Arthur. "I'll go see if Gwaine wants to come along," he continues, but hesitates before taking off, looking at Morgana as if to ask permission.

"Sounds wonderful," she says, taking her wallet out of her pocket and tossing a twenty pound note, and a ten on the table. Gwen contribute a five each, and Arthur himself goes to give one as well, but Morgana puts a hand on his arm to stop him. "It's covered," she says, and Arthur nods.

"Right," he says, tucking the note back into his wallet and folding it over.

Merlin had watched the exchange without a word, which made Arthur's face burn (which was _stupid_ and _irrational _and Arthur couldn't even tell you why. His gaze snaps back to Morgana and Gwen, and even a brief flit to Lance, before saying, "Right, then, I'll go grab Gwaine."

Gwen tells him they'll meet him by the entrance, and picks up her coat (which Lance then helps her into in a gentlemen-y fashion), and the four of them head towards the front entrance of the pub. Arthur steps outside first, followed by the others, and shivers against the chill that lingers in the air, suddenly wishing he'd brought a jacket or a jumper along as well.

Morgana leans against the nearest wall, producing a cigarette from her purse; as she lights it in one swift motion, Arthur wrinkles his nose. "You really shouldn't smoke," tells her. "I'm pretty sure we've had this conversation before."

Morgana rolls her eyes and Gwen nudges her with her own shoulder. "You wouldn't believe how many times I've told her that."

Morgana does what Morgana does, and that's change the subject. "You've been awfully quiet, Arthur," she comments, smoke streaming out the sides of her mouth and nose as she speaks.

Arthur shifts on his feet. Truth is, Arthur really isn't all that quiet – that much is obvious – but he felt like he'd been intruding on their little group. Leave it to Morgana to get _real friends_ (and not him, mind you), that seemed so – nice, and genuine. Arthur really couldn't help but feel just a bit envious.

Okay, really, envious, but can one really blame him?

Before Arthur has the chance to defend himself, though, Merlin emerges with Gwaine by his side then, a red scarf that he hadn't been wearing before around his neck (and highlighting the brightness of his eyes, but Arthur wasn't about to admit that out-loud). "Are we ready?" he asks, looking at every one (except for Arthur, which he didn't miss.)

"As ready as we'll ever be," Lance speaks on behalf of the rest of them, and Morgana drops her cigarette to the concrete and stepping on it with the heel of her boots. She and Gwen link arms. "We're taking my car – Lance can come back for his later."

Lance looks a little against the idea, but goes along with it when Gwen agrees.

"We'll be following you, then?" Gwaine says, and Arthur looks at him. He hadn't really taken notice before, but Gwaine's rather attractive, with flowing dark hair, and scruff that Arthur's sure only he could pull of. He has a backpack tucked on his back, and he swings it around, holding it with one hand and unzipping it with the other. When he yanks a motorcycle helmet out, and passes it to Merlin, Arthur frowns.

"I'm not leaving my bike here," Gwaine goes on to say, zipping his backpack back up and situating it back on his shoulders.

"Do me a favor, Morgana?" Merlin asks then, passing the helmet back to Gwaine, and sliding his guitar case off his shoulders, holding it out to her gingerly, as if handing off a child. "Can I stow this in your car?"

"No room," Morgana sing-songs, and the corner of her mouth turns up mischievously. Arthur recognizes the look right away, and somehow he knows what she's going to say before she does. "I'm sure Arthur can keep it safe for you."

Merlin draws back a little, pulling his guitar case closer to his chest, and blinks over at Arthur as if he'd forgotten that he even existed. "Would you mind, mate?" he asks Arthur, that same sharpening of the eyes making a reappearance. "Promise not to damage your upholstery." There's a snark in his tone that makes Arthur's mouth twitch.

"It won't be a problem," he replies smoothly, gesturing towards his car at the opposite end of the lot. "Shall we, then?"

Morgana gives Arthur a knowing look, and he shoots her back dagger-eyes as a response, before tugging Gwen and Lance towards her own car. Gwaine nods at Merlin, "Meet you over there," he winks, and then he's headed off as well, leaving Merlin and Arthur (awkwardly) alone.

"Right, so," Arthur clears his throat, extending with one arm towards his car. Merlin brushes past him without a word, walking a brisk pace towards Arthur's car, and waits (impatiently, judging by his expression) by the back door for Arthur.

Arthur contemplates confrontation Merlin – asking him what the hell his problem is, remembering how Merlin had recognized him so swiftly during that first encounter, how he'd been so quick to portray his contempt for Arthur. It hardly made any sense then, and it hardly does now. Of course, Arthur may have snapped at him before, but he has a feeling that even if he hadn't, Merlin still would've behaved the way he did, the way he is.

He decides against it at the last moment, figuring he'd much rather do it when they're not about to be stuck together for God knows how long at some dinner that Arthur really should've opted out of, but didn't, knowing Morgana would never forgive him.

Arthur not-so-gently nudges Merlin aside, unlocking his car and popping open the back door. Merlin gives him a look before sliding the guitar case into the back seat, taking the liberty of shutting the door himself, and turning his back, without so much as another word of thanks.

Well, right, then, Arthur thinks, and huffs a sigh, climbing into his car.

As he's pulling out, he watches Gwaine gently place the helmet on Merlin's head, watches Merlin climb on the back of Gwaine's Harley motorcycle, and wind his arms around Gwaine's waist.

No, he does not narrow his eyes, and no, he does bite the inside of his cheek. But yes, he makes a point of pulling ahead of the two of them and follow Morgana's car out of the parking lot.


	3. Chapter 3

They end up in some no name diner just twenty minutes away, surprisingly empty considering the day and time of night. Arthur's not saying the place is rubbish - far from it's, it's actually rather nice for a little diner tucked away in a not very nice part of town - just, different. Smells entirely like fried food and maybe a bit of cheap cleaner, and there's an odd stain under one of the tables, but that would be the only thing that's off about the whole place. The floor is a smooth gray tile, and the various tables and booths are done in a silver and red color scheme.

However - and he doesn't voice this - but after one look at the chef (a greasy, over sized man donning a hair net and chewing on what seems like tobacco) Arthur prays that they don't all end up with food poisoning.

Morgana steers Gwen and Lance towards one of those semi-circle booths near the back, large enough to hold all of them if they don't mind sitting too close, without any thought, like it's a regular place for them. Arthur trails behind, watching (probably not very subtly, but nobody calls him out on it) Merlin and Gwaine interact. If anybody asked, he'd just say that he's trying to figure out whether or not they're a couple (which he really can't tell at the moment) but that's not really it. The thing is, he doesn't know what _it_ is.

Arthur finds himself standing awkwardly outside the booth while the other members of their party file in one each side, once again adorning that air of _normality._ Morgana ends up exactly in the middle (really no surprise there) with Gwaine on her right, and Gwen on her left, with Lance next to Gwen, and Merlin next to Gwaine. The thing is though, is that Lance is almost hanging off on one side, and therefore the only available seat is next to Merlin.

Arthur swallows, and his stomach flutters like a teenage girl's.

Nobody makes any sort of comment, especially not Merlin who sidles up closer to Gwaine when Arthur nods in his direction and takes a seat, folding his hands on the table.

"What happened to shawarma?" Gwaine pipes up after a beat of really uncomfortable silence that causes Arthur to pick at his nails - a nervous habit of his.

"Wasn't in the mood," Morgana shrugs, picking up one of the menus in a stack at the center of the table the booth surrounds, and flipping through it. "Besides, they have excellent salad here."

"Still on that diet then?" Arthur can't help but interject with a raised eyebrow.

Morgana gives him one of _those_ looks. "Are you implying that I need it?"

"Not at all," Arthur smirks back at her, and they may taunt and tease, but really he's glad that she's here at all. For starters, if she wasn't, _he_ wouldn't even be here, and as awkward as it is, it's much better than stuck home with Father. Then there's the fact that even if he somehow ended up here without Morgana, he'd have no idea how he'd muddle through it all. Arthur may put on this front - various fronts, actually, that go back and forth between Uther's prodigal child, and the social butterfly - but he's really not that found of going out at all. Bit of a loner, actually, as Morgana's called him more times then he cares to admit.

Arthur tries to put these thoughts out of his head the best he can, and reaches over to pick up one of the menus. It reads your typical diner meals in bright colors and large advertisements beneath the plastic coating. There's pictures of giant cheeseburgers that look too much for anybody besides Chef over there behind the counter to handle, and milkshakes that makes Arthur's teeth ache by just thinking about them.

He feigns intense interest in the menu, but he's already decided on one of those teeth-rotting milkshakes, simply because it's been quite some time since he indulged in something sweet, and takes to listening to the chatter around him. He still hasn't gotten completely over the fact that they're all _so close_, or at least they seem to be; that Morgana has managed to snag said group, a genuinely good group; that they all flow seamlessly with each other without a second thought. Arthur won't even pretend not to be envious anymore, and there's a small bloom of hope inside of his chest that whispered maybe, just maybe, he could fit in with the rest of them, too.

As if that wasn't the most cliche, pathetic, high-schooly thing that he could think of.

"So Arthur," Gwen says then, capturing his attention, and everyone else's as well. "What is it that you do, exactly?"

"Oh, I," Arthur lays his hands flat on the table so he doesn't start picking at them again. "I work for my father, he's CEO of Camelot. It's not exactly an official position, more like a high-esteem internship," he makes a face at himself - his explanation isn't the best, but it's all he could give. "I'm still in school, majoring in Business Management, Minoring in Economics."

Arthur doesn't miss Merlin's raised eyebrow. "So you already have a job, and you're still going to school?"

Arthur finds his face burning. "Well, when you put it that way -"

Thankfully, Morgana swoops in just then, leaning forward in her seat. "Our father insists on getting a degree in business, and besides, he, and our grandfather, and Arthur's uncle for that matter, went to London Business School as well, so. It's one of those family tradition things." Morgana waves her hand nonchalantly.

"London Business School, eh?" Gwaine says leaning forward so he could see past Merlin and make eye contact with Arthur. "Isn't that really prestigious?"

"And expensive," Lance mutters under his breath, and he sounds almost wistful.

A waitress appears just then, and she's the only thing about this day that isn't stereotypical - she isn't your usual loud gum-smacking, frizzy-haired, attitude-to-rival-Donna-Noble waitress, but rather very bubbly and perky. "Hello, hello, hello!" she says with an exaggerated smile and Arthur wonders why she felt the need to say it three times in a row. "My name is Sophia, I'll be your waitress this evening. Are you ready to order?"

Arthur's thinking about her attitude, and her status as "waitress" - really, he wouldn't call girls who worked at diner's that, but he does suppose there is no other name for it - when there's a bony elbow into his upper arm. He hisses out in pain automatically, looking up to shoot a glare at Merlin (who's smirking, the bastard), before glancing over at the waitress.

"Your turn, hun," she says with too much honey in her voice to be real, and it's then that he realizes that everybody's already ordered. That's what he gets really for not paying any attention.

"Er, just a medium vanilla milkshake," he mutters out, and it suddenly seems like the stupidest thing in the world to order, but Sophie is already tapping her pen sharply against her notepad once, twice, giving another sickly sweet smile, and turning around.

"I'll never understand your love for vanilla," Morgana snorts out, twiddling with one the bracelets on her wrists.

"I know right," Gwaine bursts in in that boisterous way that Arthur's already figured out is custom to him. Gwaine nudges Merlin, who gives him a smile that doesn't look anything like the fake ones that Arthur's been getting. "Merlin's the same way, couldn't live without it."

"Really?" Arthur finds himself saying.

Merlin purposefully avoids Arthur's stare, and mumbles something under his breath, scowling down at the table top. It's so unlike Merlin when dealing with Arthur, that the latter does a double take - and then it hits him, as he watched Gwaine nudge Merlin and Merlin reply with a breathless smile. Oh, alright, so Merlin has a bit of a schoolgirl crush, then. Really, Arthur's just glad he figured that one out.

And he's not jealous in any way shape or form, because it's beyond irrational, regardless of the fact that (besides a few of the Pendragon's disgruntled employees) Merlin's the only one who a) knows who Arthur is, and b) is not afraid at all to be a complete arse to his face, to lay out his intense dislike without a thought. As confusing as it may be for Arthur, it's also rather - impressive. Yes, that's the word, impressive.

He's not jealous, no way.

Sophia returns then, balancing two trays on each of her hands, both clad with their various meals. "One Caesar salad," she begins listing off, setting a small plastic bin full of leafy greens and croutons and vegetables in front of Morgana, who looks rather satisfied with it (which is a first, at least that Arthur's seen). "One double burger, hold the tomatoes, easy on the mayo," she sets this in front of Gwaine who rubs his hands together in obvious glee. "A slice of our famous apple pie, two forks, as requested -" for Lance and Gwen, who wear matching, thankful grins. "And a milkshake for this handsome man." Arthur can't resist a quick wink at Sophia - it's a rather automatic thing - but when she runs off blushing, he feels rather foolish for it.

"You're not hungry, Merlin?" Lance asks, gently, as with the rest of his sentences.

Merlin just shrugs, leaning back in the booth and folding his arms behind his head, so that one of his sharp elbows poke Arthur in the ear. Arthur draws away, pulling his shake closer to him, when he notices a slip of paper tucked underneath, catching onto the condensation seeping from the bottom of the glass. With a frown, he plucks it out and waves it in the air, as if that would dry it off quickly. When he holds it up to the late, he sees a series of numbers and it takes a moment to register that it's Sophia's phone number. "Oh."

Gwaine bursts out in loud laughter that makes even Merlin smile. "Oh, mate, you're hilarious."

"Er, thanks," Arthur replies, but when he's sure that nobody's looking, he drops the slip of paper beneath the table.

**~X~**

"You're a lot quieter than I'd thought you be," comes a voice from behind Arthur and he turns around on automatic. At this point, he'd stepped outside for a moment to ease his stomach - he drank the milkshake too fast, he supposed, but there was some kind of emotion in there too that he didn't want to identify - while everyone else had begun recounting this grand tale that had something to do with a donkey, a turtle, and whip cream. Arthur really couldn't bear that either.

It's Lance, which is quite frankly, the last person he expected and Arthur shivers against the wind that had suddenly picked up. "Pardon?" he asks Lance with a raised eyebrow.

Lance shifts on his feet. From what Arthur could tell so far is that Lance isn't the most outspoken of people, but there's a certain kindness that radiates from him, and more than that, Arthur can tell that he really loves his girlfriend, Gwen, and that she really loves him too. It's rather pleasant to see, actually, and Arthur catches himself grinning at the two of them. They're almost infectious, actually.

"It's just, there's all these stories about you, you know," Lance waves his hand generically, as if that would clarify what he met. "That you're some kind of prat and . . . whatnot." The poor bloke is actually blushing.

Arthur snorts out a laughter that startles even him. "Only to the people I don't like." It's an honest statement, and that scares Arthur more than anything else. He hadn't meant to be so truthful.

Lance gives a small smile. "Gwen thinks your great, she told me she hopes you'll hang out with us more often." Lance shrugs in his jacket. "You seem like a great man."

"I'm not," Arthur mutters under his breath, and by Lance's confused frown and tilt of the head, Arthur thinks that he accidentally caught that. "I'll thank her when we go back inside," Arthur covers up quickly, words a little too rushed.

Lance nods and shifts his gaze to the ground.

"Can I ask you something?" Arthur finds himself asking, and it comes out all jumbled, words tripping over each other, but Lance seems to understand.

"Of course."

"Are -" Arthur swallows, and he really, really cannot believe that he's about to utter this sentence. "Gwaine and Merlin are they -" Arthur cuts off. "Well, you know."

Lance does something that Arthur doesn't except, and that's let loose an honest to God _cackle,_ "They're not a couple, no. I mean," he rubs the back of his neck with his hand. "Morgana calls their, er, situation a 'mutual bootycall'." He uses air quotes. "They're sleeping together, but no, they aren't _together_."

"Oh, alright," Arthur nods to himself, and his stomach is a little less queasy from the shake, and a little more from something else entirely. "I was just, you know, wondering."

"No, yeah, of course," Lance nods in reply. "Well, I mean, I suppose Merlin _wants_ something more, but Gwaine's not really the type to commit -" he cuts himself off suddenly, eyes going a little wide. "I'm sorry, I've said too much."

"Er, no apologies necessary. Everyone has to speak their mind some times," Arthur offers his best reassuring grin. Besides, Lance didn't seem like the type to give his opinion often, and Arthur knows for a fact that that's something that really gets to a person. "One more thing, though," Arthur swallows. "Do you know why it is that Merlin doesn't, er -"

"Like you, at all?" Lance raises an eyebrow, eyes darkening a little simultaneously. "That's something you're going to ask him, it's far too personal for me to explain."

Arthur stares at Lance for a moment, no doubt bewilderment stitched into his features, but just then the rest of the group comes stumbling out, laughing about a turtle being upside down in a tub of whip cream. Lance laughs along with them, and Arthur tries to fit in by chuckling as well, but even to him it sounds awkwardly done and out of place.

Morgana clasps a hand on his shoulder, "Don't worry, bro, I got the tab covered." She winks at him.

"Oh gosh, it's getting late," Gwen says then, glancing at a cheap, automatic watch on her left wrist. "I have class tomorrow, but we had a lovely time." She winds her arm around Lance's waist, who grins down at her with that same love in his eyes that makes Arthur's heart ache a little. "I'll see you tomorrow for our lunch date, right Morgana?" she looks at her expectantly.

"Of course," Morgana promises, leaning over to give Gwen a kiss on her cheek like girls do. She adjusts her purse over her shoulder. "And I'll see you at work tomorrow, brother." She gives Arthur one of her infamous "toodle-loo" (as he labeled it) waves, as well as one to Gwaine and Merlin, before headed off in the direction of her car, beckoning for Gwen and Lance to follow her. "Don't forget, I drove you here . . ." Arthur hears her saying to them before their voices fade out - he watches them climb into Morgana's car before fixating his gaze on Gwaine and Merlin who are speaking to each other in low voices.

"Er," he starts, picking at a thread on the sleeve of his jacket. "I'd be off, but, your instrument?" he looks at Merlin with a raised eyebrow.

Something in Merlin's multicolored eyes flash, some sort of angry thing that makes Arthur flinch without thought. "Oh, right," he says a little too forcefully. "I'd almost forgotten."

Arthur doesn't think he'd forgotten at all, but he's not about to mention it.

"I'm sure Arthur wouldn't mind giving you a ride home," Gwaine says, and it sounds a bit controlling to Arthur's ears, which causes him to frown. Before he can do anything else, Gwaine's situating his bike helmet over his head and reaching over to lay a hand on Merlin's wrist for one beat too long, before he's off as well, whistling some song under his breath that Arthur doesn't recognize.

There's a tense moment, where the parking lot is near empty, save for a few employee cars, and Merlin and Arthur look anywhere but at each other.

"After you then," Arthur finally breaks the silence, unable to bear it any longer, and gestures towards his car, only a few feet away.

"Don't mind if I do," Merlin says with a smirk, and he turns on his heel and practically _marches_ to Arthur's car.

_It's going to be a long ride, _Arthur thinks before following.

There's a tensely spoken moment only once during the duration of car ride, in which Merlin gives instructions, before settling on the far end of the passenger seat and turning his face away. Merlin directs Arthur to a studio complex that seems rather shabby, but Arthur doesn't dare say a word, not even when a couple of shady looking teenagers eye his car like their planning something.

Arthur turns over the few encounters Merlin and him have had in his mind, and he supposes that yes, Merlin is entirely legitimate in his being an arse to Arthur, considering Arthur started it, but there was something far more to that. Aside from the fact that Merlin knew his name (there's not many who don't), he seemed to harbor an ill feeling before they'd even met. Arthur couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was – Merlin didn't exactly seem like an environmentalist that sometimes striked outside of Camelot's main building, but then again, Camelot's screwed too many people to count out of details. Maybe it was that.

Merlin doesn't even bother to give an Arthur a thank you before popping open the door handle. He's just about to climb out when Arthur calls out, "Wait."

Merlin stops, but doesn't turn his gaze to Arthur. "Can I help you, mate?"

"I just wanted to give my, er, apologies," Arthur drums his fingers against the steering wheel. "When we met, I wasn't in the best of moods, it's really no excuse. I just – I'm sorry."

When Merlin's gaze snaps to Arthur, his brightly colored eyes are practically glowing against the dim lighting of the overhead interior light. "Oh, come off it," he practically _sneers_ and Arthur can feel his mouth turn downwards in a frown. "Don't think I'm falling for this whole nice guy routine you're putting on for Gwen and Lance and Morgana. This," he waves his fingers at Arthur. "'I'm actually really shy' thing you're playing at. You're Arthur Pendragon, you're probably the richest man in England – or at least, your father is – not to mention you're tabloid adventures." When Merlin's finished, he takes another deep breath, face red, like he's about to start in again, but Arthur holds up a hand to cut him off.

"I'm having a hard time understand why it is you seem to hate me so much," Arthur say, that same bitterness that doesn't seem to be going away at all between them dripping in his tone. "I apologized for that day, I was out of line, shouldn't that be enough for you?"

Merlin barks out a harsh laugh. "Oh, I don't hate you, just everything you stand for."

"What, did my company screw you out of a deal? Do you want compensation, I could give you that -"

"I would never take your money in a million years," Merlin scoffs, and then he's climbing out of the car.

Arthur means to call after him, because he's not going to let this go, and he will most certainly figure out why Merlin is behaving this way, but before he can think of anything, Merlin's already climbing up an outside, rickety-looking staircase, instrument case slung over his shoulder, and disappearing inside.

Right, then, Arthur thinks to himself. He'll figure it out one way or another.


	4. Chapter 4

There are some spacing issues, I swear I will have that fixed ASAP.

* * *

"Sorry," Morgana lifts her glass of ice tea and smirks over the top of it. "Can't tell you that."

Arthur lets loose a groan and leans back in his seat, fingers tapping against the table. He doesn't particularly like it here, but it's Morgana's favorite daytime cafe, and they haven't had one of their so-called weekly brunches in at least a month, so he owes her. Of course, for as much as he does owe her, that's not stopping him from grilling her about a certain bloke named Merlin.

One week, three dinners, and another Merlin-concert later, and Arthur still hasn't figured why it is that Merlin seems to despise him so much. Lance has already given his "too personal for me to tell" excuse, and Arthur figures Gwen wouldn't even dream of telling him in a million years, so he hadn't even tried. His last hope was Morgana, and now that's gone as well.

"Why do you care so much?" Morgana inquires, setting her iced tea back down on the table and picking at the dessert on her plate. To Arthur it looks something like a biscuit with chocolate thrown up on it, but that's about as much as he can figure about it.

"Well, why wouldn't I?" he replies, toying with a fork next to his own plate. "It doesn't make any sense, I mean I ran into him once -"

"It's nothing personal," Morgana cuts off in a reassuring tone. "Well, I mean it's your name. Pendragon." Morgana raises an eyebrow, tearing a piece off her desert and popping it into her mouth.

"Your name's Pendragon," Arthur points out.

She rolls her eyes, "Right, and how often do you see him talk to even me?"

Arthur thinks that over for a second. To be honest, Merlin may have been polite and friendly to Morgana, but that's about as far as it went. Arthur doubts that Merlin even considers himself and Morgana friends as much as mutual acquaintances, or something of the sort. He's about to ask her what's so wrong about their name, but thinks better of it.

"He's not some sort of environmentalist, is he?" he asks, and draws back a little in surprise when Morgana coughs into her drink.

"Not at all," she outright laughs, shaking her head. "No, it's nothing to do with any of that bullshit. It's - it's personal." Morgana settles on that vague last word, a finality in her voice that indicates she's done talking about it. Arthur's correct on that assumption, and she moves on. "Speaking of Merlin, he's having another performance at the arts center. Gwen, too. A musical – do you plan on coming?"

Arthur looks at her dubiously. Morgana is very, very aware of just how much Arthur despises musicals, with a burning passion, actually. But then again, it's another opportunity with friends. And yes, he considers these people friends now (even Merlin, if somebody were to ask him), and he hopes that they feel the same way. There have been no indications of otherwise at the very least, and just yesterday he even got a hug from Gwen and a pat on the back from Lance. (And a sideways glance from Merlin, but that's beside the point.) This little group he's found himself in is hundreds of times better than anybody else he's ever really spent time with, and he;s caught himself calling up Morgana to see if they have anything planned. Business has been rather slow at Camelot, and he's seen his father all of twice, and only in fleeting glances, in the past week - not to mention that he's on break for school - so his free time has increased exponentially. He'd much rather spend it with Morgana and his new friends than anywhere else.

The point being that, as much as he hates musicals, he's not too convinced he'd miss this. "What is it?" he asks anyway.

"Beats me," Morgana shrugs, sparing a glance at her watch. "It's tomorrow, eight o clock or so. Tell you what," she says, climbing off her chair and picking up her purse from where it was resting on the table. "I'll pick you up, hmm? Haven't said hello to father in a while."

Arthur chuckles at that - Morgana may be Uther's pride and joy, more so than Arthur himself, and that's saying a lot, but Uther is definitely not Morgana's. "If you can catch him - he's hasn't been home, lately."

"Maybe he's seeing someone," Morgana suggests with a raise of her eyebrows, and then she's leaning over and kissing Arthur's cheek. "See you tomorrow, brother."

He watches her go with a soft smile, thankful for many reasons.

**~X~**

Arthur really shouldn't think too much about Morgana's suggestion, but he finds himself contemplating the possibility of his father having an affair when he doesn't turn up again that night for dinner. Arthur even inquires Gaius about it, who's lurking around the house for reasons unknown, but all he got was a vague answer about some event or another. Arthur knows right off the bat it's a blatant lie - Uther drags Arthur to all events featuring Camelot, especially if their hosting it or a sponsor of it in any way.

Arthur tries to busy himself with paperwork and his uni break project, but to little avail. His mind wanders to various things - his father, Merlin, his friends, even Morgana - and eventually he gets up and ends up wandering the house.

He finds himself humming a song under his breath, and for a moment he can't remember for the life of him where he heard it before. It takes him several minutes to realize that it's the same one that Merlin played at his last performance, an Arthur feels his face growing hot. He's thinking about Merlin far too much, but in his defense, the bloke is certainly a puzzle that Arthur feels the need to solve.

Perhaps that's how he ends up plopped down in front of his laptop, pulling open a search engine and staring at it for a long pause. He feels stupid and rather stalker-ish, but his curiosity rivals his embarrassment, and he types in "Merlin Emrys" before he can chicken out.

There's really not much - a Facebook profile with statuses that are few and far between, a MySpace page for his music, and some local pub's websites featuring the same performance dates, etc. He doesn't read too much into these, for fear of seeming ten times more like a creep than he already does.

He's about to shake his head and chastise himself and maybe take a shower to kill some time, when something catches his eyes further down the webpage. It looks like the link to an article and Arthur frowns to himself before clicking on it.

The article date is several years old - ten or so - and seems to be discussing the death of one Balinor Emrys. The article does not give the cause of death, but does say; Emrys is survived by his wife of eight years, Hunith, and his young son, Merlin.

Arthur instantly feels like he's intruding on something very deep, very private and he closes out of the article immediately, shutting the lid of his laptop. He swears, it's like some stereotypical teenage romance novel, and if that's not bad enough in itself . . .

"Arthur."

Arthur looks up in surprise, nearly falling off of his chair. He hadn't heard the entrance door or gotten any alert that his Father had arrived home in any way. Uther looks tired and a little haggard, but sober, which is surprising considering the tuxedo he wears, which he saves for the most prestigious events. Of course, Arthur himself hasn't heard anything of the sort, so why his Father is wearing this tux is beyond him.

"Father!" he says, getting to his feet swiftly and nodding in recognition at his father, back held straight, head high. It's almost a military stance he adopts, and the only thing missing is a formal salute.

"At ease," Uther chuckles, taking his glasses off his face and walking towards the desk that Arthur had been sitting at, placing the glasses on the table. "I'm surprised to see you're home, Arthur," his father says, and there's nothing in his tone that implies the statement to be _casual. _

"There's an important meeting with Cenrid tomorrow," Arthur recovers quickly. "I wouldn't dream of going out the night before."

"Quite right," Uther agrees and stands back on his heels, gaze travelling over ARthur's face as if to read something there. Arthur squirms under the stare but is not the one to break eye contact first. "I've been meaning to have a word with you," Uther goes on to say an Arthur's throat clenches a little. "Follow me to my office, would you, son?"

"Yes, sir," Arthur gathers up his laptop quickly in his arms first, tucking it beneath his left one, before following his father, who already has his back turned and is headed towards the wide double doors of his office at the end of the nearest hallway.

The interior has always been sparsely decorated, save for one picture of Arthur's mother, a few potted plants, and various books, and to Arthur it feels like the loneliest place in the house. He avoids it if he can, but Uther spends eighty percent of his time here (and the other twenty at Camelot's HQ). The furniture contrasts greatly from the white, modern pieces in the rest of the estate, made entirely of the finest wood, with detailed engravings along every crevice. Uther's desk is grand and littered with papers and at least three computer monitors, and the chair behind it is legit leather, in which Uther settles on, Arthur lurking just near the door.

Uther doesn't call him further in, which indicates that the conversation will be short and to the point, and the nervousness in Arthur's throat heightens.

"You know, Arthur," Uther begins, averting his gaze to the photo of Arthur's mother just off to his right. "I really don't appreciate being woken at three in the morning by a driver to inform me that my grown son was vomiting all over the house."

Arthur's face flushes - he doesn't remember puking anywhere besides on Leon's shoes. He doesn't say anything, anyhow, simply awaits for Uther's speech to be through.

"What is that you're doing, son," Uther sighs, leaning back in his chair, and finally looking up at Arthur.

"I don't understand what you mean, Father," Arthur replies, watching as Uther sheds his tuxedo jacket and yank the tie off from around his neck.

"With your life," Uther looks up again, his eyes a little sharper around the irises than before. "You are to be CEO of Camelot one day, Arthur, and I fear that day is sooner than you think. You can't be," he wrinkles his nose. "Partying, and coming home at late hours of the night, it's entirely irresponsibly, and we don't need the press getting involved."

Arthur sets his jaw firmly before speaking. After all, it was Uther who told Arthur to engage in social activities, to hold up that image that everyone expected of him - Arthur Pendragon, prodigal son by day, social elite at night. The other night may not have been planned, per say, or suggested by anyone besides his own need to just have the smallest of breaks, but the fact remains.

"it's been a week since that night, Father," Arthur says, and he tries to make his tone a little less snappy but judging by Uther's raised eyebrows, he fails. "If the press were to get involved, I'm sure they would have -"

Uther lifts a finger and then pulls open a desk drawer, taking out some tabloid magazine that Arthur can't see the name of an flipping it open to a bookmarked page. "'Arthur Pendragon seen drunk at Avalon Pub in central London'." He begins to read the article out loud, but doesn't get past the first line, and simple holds up the magazine between two of his finger, like it's a disgusting rag. The pad of his index finger is covering half of Arthur's own face, the rest of him being seen quite literally falling into the limousine, with Leon helping him.

"My mistake," Arthur says, voice strained.

"Pay more attention, Arthur," Uther says, his own voice dismissive. "Don't let this srt of thing happen again."

And then he's turning his face to one of the computer monitors and Arthur knows without another word being spoken that Uther i done with him.

He squashes the angry words bubbling in his throat and half-dashes out of his father's office.

**~X~**

"I'd like to take a look at last month's figures . . ."

Arthur prompts hand Uther the appropriate folder, who nods in thanks, before turning back to Mr. Cenrid, who is seated at the head of the ridiculously long, oak table. Arthur's mind meanders, and he goes staring back out of one of the many windows that make up the entire conference room space. At the head of the room, left to the glass doors that lead out, is a projector screen, currently blank. Arthur's surprised Cendrid hasn't brought up some extravagant powerpoint yet, but then again, he did leave his assistant outside, which just shows how important (and tense - Arthur can feel his father's anxiety rolling off of him in waves), this meeting is.

It's raining outside - two of Arthur's least favorite things happening at once.

"So do we have a deal?" Arthur tunes back in time to hear, and he looks over to see Cenrid frowning down at the chart in his left hand, toying with his cell phone in his right. Uther's gazing at him expectantly, a false smile planted on his features, eyes drawn tight at the corners.

There's a long beat of silence, and then, "Yes, I believe we do." And Uther's cackling like he does when things have gone his way and clapping Cendrid on the shoulder.

"You won't regret this, Cenrid," Uther tells the other, and they both stand, Arthur following suit. There's the shaking of hands between the three of them, and then Cenrid is turning his back and pressing his cell phone to his ear. Arthur goes about collecting the paperwork scattered on the table, and when they're all tucked into their appropriate folders, he hands them back to Uther.

As soon as Cenrid is out of sight, Uther's smile disappears off his face and he marches towards the doors. Arthur doesn't have time to ask what's wrong - he may not have paid enough attention to the meeting to figure out what the final settlement agreement had been, but as far as he could tell, it had worked in their favor, and he can't figure out why Uther is behaving like this - before his father is gone and out the door.

"Did everything work out well, sir?" George, Arthur's personal (awfully boring) assistant, inquires as soon as Arthur leaves the conference room himself.

"Er, yes," Arthur tells George. "Did you take care of the, er, thing, I asked you, too?"

"Yes, of course sir!" George beams. Arthur has no idea what thing he's even referring to, and wonders what it is exactly George thinks he meant.

"Excellent, and that - other one?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Well, you best be off to do that," Arthur pats George awkwardly on the shoulder and then adjusts his suit jacket around himself and takes off down the hall, ignoring the chatter of the cubicle workers around him, fully intending on getting to the nearest break room.

When he gets there, ready to release a heavy sigh, he's pleasantly surprised with a friendly face.

"Gwen!" he says, and his new friend looks up from where she'd been studying a tray of donuts, a smile spreading across her features.

"Arthur! How did your meeting go?" she asks, ignoring the donuts and picking up a mug of coffee or tea or another off of the counter top. She's dressed neatly, which says a lot, considering most of the people who work in these little cubicle spaces tend not to; she's complete in heels and everything. Arthur briefly wonders what her position is, and is further baffled at how he has not run into her in the office before.

"Honestly, I have no idea," he chuckles, crossing the room to peer into the fridge, just for something to do with himself. "And how is your day going?" he asks her, reaching into the fridge to grab inspect a yogurt without a post-it note on it.

"Oh, stressful," Gwen sighs, blowing a stray piece of hair out of her face. "But it's almost lunch, so here's to that."

Arthur laughs - he enjoys Gwen's company the most. She's awfully kind, and very intelligent, and beautiful, and she always has this aura of happiness that's contagious. "How's Lance?" he asks, popping open the lid to the yogurt and frowning at the contents.

"Great!" Gwen says, and she perks up in the barely noticeable way she does whenever Lance's name is brought up. "He's working his arse - oh, pardon -" she blushes and it's downright adorable, Arthur thinks. "He's working really hard right now, he's got an exam this week."

"He's studying law, correct?" Arthur clarifies, putting the lid back on the yogurt - there's fruit in it, he doesn't like fruit in his yogurt - and tucking it back in the fridge.

"Yes," Gwen nods. "He'll be the finest lawyer London's ever seen."

****Arthur laughs again, "I'm quite sure. Oh, that reminds me – Morgana said something about a musical, tomorrow night?"

"Yes!" Gwen practically exclaims and suddenly she's more or less _glowing _with excitement. "It's a retelling of –"

"Guinevere!"

Arthur doesn't recognize the voice that calls Gwen's name, but it sounds rough, and mean, and worst of all, rude, and even Arthur flinches. "Oh, God," Gwen groans, and then she turns on her heel, just as a burly man with a stern face appears in the doorway, a finger raised at her.

"Is there a problem here?" Arthur says, and the red-faced man looks up, eyes going wide and a little blank, finger dropping back to his side.

"Not at all, Mr. Pendragon, sir."

"I thought so," Arthur hums, and then he links his arm through Gwen's, causing her to look up at him in surprise. "It's quite alright if Gwen takes the rest of the day off, yes?"

"Um – uh, yes, yes of course," the man swallows and he gives a curt nod to the both of them before practically fleeing from the lounge.

"You are wonderful," Gwen laughs, and Arthur feels happier with that statement than he has in a long time.

Arthur smiles at her, and his face is still a little sore from all the grinning he's been doing these past few days. "Let me take you to lunch," he tells her, and she blushes but then she nods in agreement and Arthur's smile doesn't fade.


	5. Chapter 5

Hello yes it's only been three months whoops. I am here friends, I apologise profusely for being ~gone~, there is actually no excuse. This chapter is actually relatively short, and really fucking sucky, deepest apologies, but I actually know where I'm going now with this an it' going to pick up on the next chapter, I promise. Just bear with me, I'll be much nicer this time around I promise. Live long and prosper.

Also I am oh so tired to fix italics, etc, so they are indicated with / /.

* * *

Arthur frowns down at the program in his hand.

He skims over the description again, and thinks, and not for the first time, mind you, that for a community play, Les Miserables is probably not the best choice. He really doesn't want to complain - good Samaritan, for charity and all - but a performance this long with this much singing should at least come with a break or two, and needless to say, it hasn't. Morgana, of course, is on one side of him, all apt attention and good posture and he resists the urge to roll his eyes at her. Constantly. On his other side is Gwaine, who is all smiles and loud cheers and Arthur thinks he's entirely inappropriate but he's not about to voice that particular opinion.

His displeasure for musicals does not help in any way, either.

He felt the dire need to use the bathroom about thirty minutes back and he's been motionless ever since. Because Arthur Pendragon may be a lot of things, especially many fake things, but rude in the face of bloody charity, he is not. So he waits, and he thanks every god in Heaven that it's the last act because he's suspicious that he wouldn't have lasted much longer.

That's not to say the performance is bad - quite the contrary. Sure, he can't keep track of the characters names, the plot, can't even understand what they're singing half the time (and they never stop. Ever), but it's lively and very emotional and he'll deny it until the ends of the Earth but there might have been a tear shed. He's yet to see Merlin of course, or maybe he has, and maybe he's missed him - and he feels completely fucking ridiculous at this prospect because why would he be seeking out Merlin, at all. If anything, he should be seeking out Gwen, who he likes to think of as friend, but in his (very meager) defense, her role has come and gone.

Arthur thinks this is the sort of thing that Morgana and her friends - his friends - do, and so he decides that he won't give much of his experience away when queried about it, outside of a "spectacular performance, very moving, wonderful cause for the" - Homeless Children of the UK? Children's Hospital Relief? Child something something?

So, perhaps he shouldn't give out that much information. In yet another attempt at defending himself to nobody but his own thoughts he tells himself that he's been under too much pressure from his father. Then again, when is he not?

Arthur is pulled from his thoughts when Gwaine stands and cheers to loud in the dead silence, and there's quite a few bickers and sneers to go around in reaction to that. Arthur himself leans away as casually as possible, nearly falling into Morgana who makes a noise of complaint and shifts away herself. Arthur gives Gwaine enough response to see what exactly it is he's cheering at, and he's not surprised when it's Merlin.

He looks wonderful, Arthur thinks without meaning to at all, all done up in costume, and not really like himself, but his best features highlighted all tat the same time. Irrational. Illogical. He ought to stop, he really ought to, but when somebody expresses /that/ much distaste for you without rhyme or reason, one can't help but notice everything about that other person. Or maybe one can, and he's just the exception to the rule, but he doesn't particularly feel like dwelling on that idea.

Arthur isn't sure what Merlin's singing, but he reflects back to the first time he heard him do so at the pub, and it's just as beautiful as before. All smooth vocals, without a single crack or wrong note or strain, and Arthur may not know a damn thing about the plot but the emotion that Merlin is quite capable of portraying is enough to raise a flash of goose bumps on his forearms.

Arthur resists the urge to make a noise at himself in disgust.

Some fifteen minutes, forty-seven seconds (no, Arthur was not counting, he's just very apt at keeping track of time), and the entire (too many people) cast is bowing and there's cheering, and the children in the front row are smiling and Arthur rejects his own experience as actually mattering. He should be gratefully, really, in every way possible, because for once he was invited t such an event - nothing prestigious even, which is enough to send Arthur on an internal thrill ride.

The auditorium is deafening for a while, and the sea of frayed red seats are lost in a collision of colour as the audience gives a standing ovation. Morgana grabs Arthur by the elbow and drags him to his feet as well, and in his ear Gwaine is whooping louder than anyone else.

And then the shuffling out begins and the convergence of colour becomes a little more physical than Arthur enjoys.

~X~

It takes far longer than it ought to to find Merlin and Gwen backstage, and the fact that Morgana managed to get them in at all is a miracle in itself, but when they do Lance sweeps Gwen into one of those twirling hugs like one straight out of a film, and even Gwaine slings an arm around Merlin's shoulder, whose high cheekbones look a little too good flushed.

Morgana smiles at the sight, and Arthur shifts uncomfortable from foot to foot. He doesn't mind public displays of affection, even thrown in his face, but he feels a bit warm back here.

"You were wonderful," Morgana gushes, taking Gwen's hands, who blushes and tries to wave her off.

"Oh, no, thank you, though, really. I missed a word, I think," Gwen replies in exasperation, and she seems a little mortified by the thought.

"Nobody noticed, if you did," Lance tells her, pressing close and Arthur hasn't quite seen him smile as big as he is now. "Which I doubt."

Gwen smiles and gives Lance a dramatic kiss on the cheek, which causes Arthur to avert his eyes - they land on Gwaine and Merlin, the former whispering fervently into the latters ear, and Arthur supposes he should avert his gaze yet again, but the red tint to the tip of Merlin's ears can't be ignored.

"Merlin was, too," Arthur blurts out into and his voice trips over itself like a nervous pageant girl. "Wonderful, I mean." Oh dear God.

Merlin's stare shifts to Arthur's face, but there's something about it that's a little softer than Arthur thinks is true, and it hardens quickly enough for Arthur to be unsure about it in the first place.

"Yes, of course!" Morgana says with just as much passion in her tone as she used when she complimented Gwen, and Arthur tallies off another mark in his mental list of "Times Morgana Pendragon Has Saved My Hide."

Merlin gives a thanks and a grin, but Gwaine's pulling him over to talk to him again, and the tension in the atmosphere between them changes into something else entirely.

"I'd offer to take us all out for drinks," Morgana says before Arthur can make the offer, which he most certainly has been planning, if wasn't all caught up in whatever it is his mind is doing to him. "But you seem awfully tired," she squeezes Gwen's wrists before letting go, and Gwen gives a chuckled sigh.

"I really am," Gwen confesses, and Lace gives her shoulders a sympathetic squeeze, Morgana giving a small smile.

And that pretty much marks the end of that, but it's more than enough for Arthur, because when they all go their separate ways, even Merlin offers a nod of farewell.

(And if Arthur sings Les Miserables in the shower later, well nobody has to know.)

~X~

The best part about the month that blurs by after that is that it's entirely uneventful, for all intents and purposes.

Sure, there's another argument filtered through Gaius with his father, and a drunken karaoke night, and a couple of performances from Merlin and his guitar (and goodbyes, and hellos, and Arthur supposes that's as far as they're going to get, and he's strangely okay with it. There's been no more late-night Googles and he doesn't have the will to wonder why all those ill feelings Merlin ever harbored occurred in the first place, because he'd rather not disrupt the flow of things, for lack of a better term.), but more than anything there's a sense of harmony and, the best part of all, belonging. Arthur doesn't even second guess the term of friend anymore, and he doesn't batter around in self loathing and worse, pity, and he even speaks up, and it's the best he's felt in his entire life.

It's the most loved, and every hug h gets from Gwen, and pat on the shoulder from Lance, and too-toothy grin from Gwaine, and good-bye from Merlin is enough to make him forget every ounce of negativity that's ever found it's way into his soul. He's not much of a romantic, even if Morgana argues that he is, but if he had to give a description of destiny, he'd name this group of people. Arthur doesn't even really understand how there was every a time before that, but those moments are dangerously dark to delve into past the surface, so he backs away from them as quick-footed possible.

It's mundane in all the right ways, and so when he wakes up one morning with the realization that his twenty-second birthday is a week away it rocks him to the core.

The thought of change frightens him in ways that he wishes more than anything it wouldn't, and he attempts greatly to tell himself he's being stupid, but he can't quite shake it off. He knows Morgana is not someone to forget birthdays either, and surely she'll do something more extravagant than Arthur would like. He's never been found of his birthdays, and his last one didn't bode over well with anyone, so he's not exactly eager to repeat the experience any time soon.

Arthur's intuition about his half-sister is startlingly accurate, because the moment the thought crosses his mind, his mobile on his nightstand buzzes.

Its loud enough to yank him fully from the haze of sleep still shimmering on the edges of his mind, and with a resigned noise in the back of his throat, he reaches over and grabs it between two fingers. He nearly drops it in the process of carrying it over to his face, but he manages to situate it comfortably in his palm and tap the touch screen to read the message flashing.

/Youre going to be twenty-two in a week dont you think it's about time you talk to Uther about moving out/. The thing about Morgana's texting habits is that while she isn't really apt at using proper punctuation, she spells everything as correctly as possibly, no matter how much time it takes up.

More so, this isn't a conversation that's gone neglected beforehand, and Arthur resists the urge to shove his phone under the pillow and ignore her completely. Of course, it'd be to little avail - Morgana has a bad habit of blowing up his mobile until he responds. She's not one to give up easily.

/ive brought it up to him u knw i ave/ Arthur types back eventually, his still-awakening haze enabling him to text without mistakes.

/you havent done a very good job/

Arthur gives up on texting all-together and presses the dial button. He hears it pick up, but Morgana doesn't greet him, so he jumps right in. "You know how he is - inheriting the business, thus the estate." He gestures to nothing in particular, arm waving uselessly in the air. "He won't have any of it."

"I'm just saying," Morgana says back, breezy per usual. "You're a grown man, older than I am, even. You're quite capable of taking care of yourself - just because Uther isn't, doesn't mean you should have to stick around." Arthur suppresses another sigh - he has a limitless supply of them when he comes to Morgana. She's in one of her usual "I have an opinion and I'm going to state it openly and without fear of consequence" moods that Arthur adores oh so much. Plenty of sarcasm included.

"There's a flat open, apparently Merlin's friend Will is looking for one as well, and even a dingy ol' flat would be better for you than that place," Morgana's voice dips in a way it rarely does, and Arthur sits up, pressing the phone closer to the ear. It's always important to listen to Morgana when she does this, an so he remains silent, waiting for her to finish. "I'm just saying," she repeats, after a moment. "This whole getting out, it' been good for you. I don't - don't want Uther fucking you all up again."

"Really, Morgana," Arthur says, but there's plenty of light teasing in his tone. "As you said, I can take care of myself."

"Shut up, you know what I mean." Arthur's sure that if Morgana could hit him right now, she would. "This time of year, businesses always goes down, everyone on vacation and what-not. Now's about a great a time as any to get out of there."

"You're making it sound like a prison, Morgana," Arthur tells her, swinging his legs off the side of his bed. "It's my home, and father's not wrong. It will be mine someday." He knows he's just offering her the usual excuses, but what Morgana doesn't understand is that, unlike her, he makes a habit of avoiding conflict. Especially in a time like this, when things are going wonderfully, and his birthday may be a week away, but a birthday is a far less drastic change than an argument with his father, and moving out, and all that other nonsense.

To say Arthur Pendragon is afraid of change is about as much as a statement of the obvious is "the sky is blue."

"Anyhow," Morgana sing-songs in her usual change-of-the-subject way of hers. "Keep your birthday open, I have plans."

"Morgana -" Arthur begins to argue but the sound of a click and his phone flashing indicates that she's gone and hung up, and he drops his hand to his side with a shake of the head.

~X~

As good as he looks in them, amongst the other things that Arthur hates, suits are one of them.

But he'd never dare to stand in front of his father during "business hours" without one on his back, and that's exactly what he's doing at the moment. They're holed up in his father's home office, gone through fifty long minutes of phone conferences, and Arthur blesses weekends, because this would be much more brutal at HQ.

As soon as Uther's gone and hung up, he swivels back to his computer. "You're taking a trip," he tells Arthur with no opening line - straight to the punch, that's Uther Pendragon. "Thursday to Sunday, in the States," Uther hums more to himself than Arthur, pressing a few keys on his keyboard. "You're meeting with -"

"Er, Father," Arthur cuts in, and interrupting his father is never, in a million years, the brightest of ideas, but it causes enough alarm for Uther to actually make eye contact with him. "I have plans," Arthur continues before he loses the nerve. "With Morgana and . . . company." He tags on as an afterthought.

Uther's left eyebrow quirks up. "Reschedule." He says it briskly and almost gruff, and Arthur contemplates agreeing completely but Morgana's words get to him.

"I'm afraid that's impossible," Arthur says, picking through is words carefully. "They're for," he swallows. "My birthday. Sir."

The look of surprise on Uther's face is not one a father who remembers his own son's birthday should wear, but Arthur never really considered it as such. He always considered the date of his birth as more of the date of his mother's death, at least in Uther's eyes, and to think that would change at all is illogical.

"I see," Uther says, and his throat sounds a little sore, whereas it hadn't before. "Well, in that case, I suppose - I suppose Gaius could go." There's something troubling in Uther's eyes, and his smile is entirely false, but as he turns away again, Arthur can tell the conversation is closed off for discussion.

He's very aware that it's a topic that will have to be tackled later, but for now he's glad to get away with it, and so he leaves the office with a nod, shutting the door behind him.


End file.
